


Its Own Reward

by fajrdrako



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-08 00:29:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fajrdrako/pseuds/fajrdrako
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A kiss doesn't mean much.  Does it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Its Own Reward

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for series 3 Doctor who "Daleks in Manhattan". I wrote this as a companion piece for [Its Own Reward](http://dwfiction.livejournal.com/477997.html) by Damalan, though I think it can stand on its own as well. With thanks to Damalan for permission to write and post this.

Just a misunderstanding, the Doctor had called it, when Martha saw him kissing Frank and stormed out. The problem was, he wasn't sure quite what had been misunderstood. It had been a thank you kiss, as promised, simple and proper, and nothing wrong with that. It had been a good thank you kiss. 

Frank had been enthusiastic, granted. The Doctor had encouraged Frank's enthusiasm, which wasn't a bad thing in itself, quite the contrary, but it wasn't as if it meant anything that should bother Martha. They'd had no ulterior motives, they didn't intend to do anything more — and if they had both enjoyed it more than anyone might have expected, where was the harm in that? 

The question was, what did Martha think was the harm in it? 

They took the boat back to Staten Island to board the TARDIS, Martha still maintaining a sullen silence. Or perhaps it was a thoughtful silence. Hard to tell, sometimes. Oh, there were ways of telling — making an excuse to touch her, for example, to pick up telepathically on her emotional direction. But that would be cheating. Over the years one of the Doctor's most hard-learned lessons was that it is sometimes better to leave people to think things through by themselves. So he leaned on the railing beside her and watched the magnificent view of the New York skyline recede in the distance. 

They were more than halfway there when Martha spoke. "It isn't that I'm not grateful. You saved us all from the Daleks."

"I didn't do it alone," he said quickly. "Really, not alone. The Daleks never did have much chance in the long run, you know. They might have taken over the planet, but the human spirit is amazing — give them a thread of hope and they'll build a net of opportunity. For every potential Dalek like Diagoras you'll find —" 

"Oh, be quiet," said Martha. 

"Right."

The waves lapped at the side of the boat, in friendly, welcoming fashion. Martha turned around, her arms stretched on the handrails, and looked up at the Statue of Liberty ahead of them. "The thing is, you said when you kissed me it meant nothing."

"But I didn't kiss you."

"Not today. In the hospital. On the Moon.” She was gritting her teeth now. "You kissed me."

"Oh. That. Well, that was just..." 

"Don't you dare say it again."

"Right."

"Once was bad enough. Twice. You said it twice already."

"Right."

"So was it nothing when you kissed Frank?"

"No."

"You like him better than me. I get it. Musical comedy. Tallulah warned me."

Since only half of that made sense, the Doctor ignored the other half, which he guessed to be the less important part anyway. "I don't like him better than you. I hardly know him. Well, I hardly know you either, but I'm getting to know you, Martha Jones, and the more I get to know you, the more I like you."

"Really?" Her tone was skeptical.

"Really. I wouldn't lie to you. Well, yes, I know, I did lie to you about my planet, but I explained that, and I think you understood in the end. Did you understand?"

"You talk a lot."

"Right. It's these words, all these words, they just keep coming, like thoughts, and I channel them into conversation, like this. Because there are so many words and I have so many thoughts. Sorry."

"No, don't apologize, Doctor. I like it."

"You do?"

"Most of the time. Do you even understand why I was upset that you were kissing Frank like that?"

The Doctor considered possible answers. He would probably anger her further if he said "no", which made it a bad answer. But "yes" would be a lie, and he had just said he wouldn't lie to her. "Maybe" would be equivocation, and she would want an explanation. "It doesn't matter" would sound dismissive. Pausing too long would seem indecisive. 

"I'm not sure," he said. 

"You were enjoying it. Really enjoying it."

"Ye-es," he admitted, carefully, wondering where the pitfall was. 

"And you made it so very clear on two occasions that you didn't enjoy kissing me."

"That was —" He realized quickly that further explanation would just make things worse, and changed direction immediately. "Possibly hasty on my part. Thank me with a kiss now and we'll see if I enjoy it."

She looked at the deck, clearly not seeing it. "A chaste peck? Don't try to tell me your kiss with Frank wasn't sexy. You were licking his tonsils. I could feel how hot it was from across the room."

He waited before answering. The sunlight, the breeze, the lapping of waves against the sides of the ship — the setting was idyllic. Somewhere someone was singing an old Irish song with an accordion, snatches of words and melody carried on the wind. Thrumming against it all, the engines of the ship, with their grinding rhythm. "Martha," he said carefully, "I'm sorry if it bothered you that I liked kissing Frank, and he liked kissing me. Frank is a nice young man, a magnificent young man, and I am happy that he survived. I am happy about the life of every beautiful human, man or woman, young or old, who was saved from the Daleks today. I am happy that you survived without harm, because you have become my friend, and you are important to me. Don't play emotional games of resentment of Frank. Don't make comparisons. Don't try to force false feelings from me. What we feel is what we feel. What we want is what we want. If you and I owe each other honesty, then we owe each other emotional honesty."

She turned around again, looking at the city and its famous silhouette. "Wow. More words."

"Yes."

"You wouldn't rather be travelling in the TARDIS with Frank?"

"No."

She looked sideways at him. "I'm such a git, sometimes. Can we start again? Rewind time to the point before you kissed Frank? Pretend it didn't happen?"

She was trying to make him smile, but that wasn't the way. He said coldly, "No. Accept it or don't. Be my friend, or not. Enjoy travelling with the TARDIS or go home. But we don't pretend things never happened."

She nodded. "I can do that, I think. I can accept it. Do I still get to kiss you?"

"Only if you want to."

"I want to. Rather too much. Does that still frighten you?"

She'd coaxed a smile from him. "After the Cult of Skaro and humanoid Daleks and pig-slaves and poverty and angel-feather-wings, nothing else can scare me today. Do your worst, Martha Jones."

"Does that mean I can grab your lapels like Frank did?"

"Isn't that what lapels are for?"

He turned towards her, smiling warmly now. Smiling back, she gripped his lapels, and pulled him to her, and kissed his lips. 

He hadn't been sure what to expect. This was not young Frank's inexperienced kiss; nor was it the practised kiss of a city sophisticate. It was, given all she had said, oddly shy, and eager, and breathlessly curious. Frank's kiss had tasted of arousal, fast and fierce. Hers didn't. It held instead something stronger, deeper and more mysterious, but no less sexual. Her taste was tantalizing and elusive, like something half-glimpsed and desired from far away. 

He suddenly wanted to grab her to him, to hold her tight, to arouse her to the feelings that had been so easy to bring to the surface with Frank. And then see what could happen. 

After what he had said, that would be … unwise. 

He felt her emotional withdrawal before she moved. She did not embrace him, as Frank had, or press her body to his. She broke off the kiss and stepped back, her cheeks redder than normal, her breath quicker. "Thank you," she said, her tone steady, but its formality betrayed her emotions. "You saved a lot of people today, in more ways than one."

"We're just about to dock," he said. And then, since her eyes were still brighter than they had been, and her cheeks more flushed: "For the record, I enjoyed that kiss."

"Really?" She took a deep breath. "You aren't just saying that? It wasn't nothing?" 

"No, Martha Jones, it was much, much more than nothing. I consider myself well thanked."

"Does that mean I don't have to leave the TARDIS? We can go somewhere else?"

"If you like."

She took his arm, and squeezed it. "You take me to the most exciting places. Hooverville and the sewers. Pharmacytown and traffic jams. Cat-nuns and pig-men. What next?"

"How about some supper? Adventures go better if you've had supper first."

She squeezed his arm. "Supper, then. Lead on."

He wondered if Martha realized what she was becoming, in his life. Or whether he understood it himself. 

Well! Supper first, soul-searching afterwards. 

Unless something happened before then.


End file.
